Tryson strode through the dimly lit room, his steps firm and unwavering, his mind clouded with a storm of emotions.
Determination burned in his eyes as he focused on one goal—finding Angel.
Yet, beneath that determination, a simring rage bubbled, threatening to spill over as thoughts of his father’s betrayal gnawed at his consciousness.
Reaching for his phone with an urgent grip, he was just about to dial when a sudden wave of dizziness swept over him.
His vision blurred montarily, and he instinctively pressed a hand to his temple, inhaling sharply. He clenched his jaw, willing himself to shake off the strange sensation.
This was not the ti to falter.
With renewed focus, he steadied himself and pressed the call button, raising the phone to his ear. The line barely rang twice before a familiar voice answered on the other end.
"Yes, sir," Kelvin’s voice ca through, crisp and alert, as if he had been expecting the call.
"Kelvin, any updates?" Tryson’s voice was clipped, straight to the point.
"Sir, Luca is in recovery at the mont," Kelvin reported. "And our n were able to uncover sothing crucial. Two n took Miss Angel. She was transported in a trolley."
Tryson’s grip on the phone tightened instinctively, his knuckles turning white as his expression darkened. The air around him seed to shift, charged with an intensity that was impossible to ignore.
"Are you certain about this?" he asked, his voice dropping to a dangerously low register. A flicker of recognition crossed his mind, recalling the n he had crossed paths with before. Could it be them? Had they returned to settle unfinished business?
"I’ll send you the decrypted video now, sir," Kelvin said.
A second later, Tryson’s phone vibrated in his hand.
His pulse quickened as he glanced down at the incoming file, his jaw tightening in anticipation.
Whatever was in that footage—he knew it was about to change everything.
Tryson lowered his phone, his fingers tightening around the device as his gaze darkened.
His pulse thundered in his ears, and as he stared at the screen, a sickening realization settled over him like a suffocating weight.
Those n... he recognized them.
The way they moved, the way they dressed—it was all too familiar. And now, with undeniable clarity, he knew exactly who they were. They were the sa n they had once held captive.
The n who occupied the dimly lit cara room.
Tryson wore expressions that hinted at his amusent; a subtle smirk danced across his lips while he instinctively tightened his jaw, revealing a hint of determination mixed with intrigue.
A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes, his expression hardening with unrelenting resolve. Without hesitation, he lifted the phone back to his ear, his tone sharp and commanding as he gave his next order.
"I want those n captured imdiately," he growled, his voice laced with a chilling authority. "Make them talk. I don’t care what it takes. They need to understand the consequences of their actions."
"Understood, sir. We’ll handle it," Kelvin responded without missing a beat.
Without another word, Tryson ended the call. His jaw clenched as frustration clawed at his insides, his emotions a volatile storm barely held in check.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, the weight of regret settling deep in his chest.
How could he have been so blind?
The signs had been there, lurking beneath the surface, and yet he had failed to see them.
But there was no ti for self-recrimination now—his only priority was finding Angel. He needed answers, and more than anything, he needed to see her.
The thought of her sent a fresh wave of emotions crashing through him.
He knew she must be hurting. But why had she lied? Why had she kept the truth about the child from him?
Shaking off his thoughts, he prepared to move, but the mont he took a step forward, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision swayed, and for a brief second, the room seed to tilt.
Blinking hard, he reached for the nearest surface, gripping it for support as he tried to steady himself. His breaths ca slow and asured, but the unsettling sensation refused to fade.
His mind raced.
His father—he had always been a master of deception. Could he have laced his drink with sothing?
Tryson had been careful, watching every movent when the whiskey had been poured. And yet, here he was, fighting off a dizziness that made no sense.
His jaw tightened. Sothing wasn’t right.
And he needed to figure it out before it was too late.
Tryson shook off the lingering thoughts, forcing himself to focus.
Without bothering to wear his mask, he strode towards the ballroom once more.
However, this ti, he noticed the space had grown significantly more crowded. Conversations buzzed through the air, overlapping and filling the grand hall with an almost suffocating energy.
More and more guests flooded in, their movents constricting the room, making it harder to navigate.
A deep frown settled on Tryson’s face. If he wanted to leave through the front of the auditorium, he would have no choice but to push through the gathering crowd.
Determined, he maneuvered his way forward, his steps steady despite the nagging dizziness that continued to claw at him.
The sensation surged again, stronger this ti, making his vision blur for a brief second. Just as he passed through a cluster of guests, a sudden grip on his arm made him halt abruptly.
His body tensed, and his head snapped around sharply at the sound of his na.
"Tryson."
The voice was soft, familiar—so achingly familiar that for a fleeting mont, his heart clenched.
It sounded just like...
His gaze locked onto the woman before him, and his frown deepened. There was sothing about her—the way she stood, the expression on her face, the way his na had rolled off her lips.
"Tryson, where are you going?" she asked gently, her tone laced with a quiet concern.
The mont the words left her lips, realization crashed over him. It was her.
"Angel," he breathed, relief flooding his system like a tidal wave.
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